6 years ago

  Mona gazed up at the sky, determined to watch the race unfold. The great bird crossed over Chestnut once again, dropping another of its giant eggs. Mona herself had little interest in the sport of catching and believed that a twelve-year-old girl like herself, set against fully grown adults, would have little chance of victory. No, instead her energy was better spent studying the ways of leadership and training her swordplay. But she would take the time to observe—it was an enjoyable sport to watch.

  As the crowd surged toward the egg, however, she realized one contestant in particular was missing—one of her dearest friends, Yig. She pushed past those behind her rushing in the opposite direction, grimacing as she used her full weight to get by. Heavens, it was annoying being so small. How great it would be when she was an adult and people took her seriously. But as she was now, everyone just got in her way.

  Finally, she reached an open path, free of the ruckus. Now, where could Yig be? Perhaps he simply hadn’t seen the egg drop. If that was the case, Mona was, of course, obligated to let him know. Even if he had no chance of catching up to the rest, the run would at least burn some of his energy.

  She found him in the forest—an obvious place to look. He sat on his knees, hunched over, meticulously working on something just out of Mona’s sight. She skipped across the fallen logs around her like stepping stones, eventually landing by Yig’s side.

  He held a Mikkin in his lap.

  As he gently stroked it, Mona spotted a branch sticking out from the creature’s abdomen. Mikkins were small, blue creatures with pointed muzzles resembling those of foxes and many dogs. They had pointed ears and deep black eyes devoid of color but bursting with life. Their fur was a deep blue, as was their bushy tail, which was tipped with white. Their cry was a distinctive whistle that conveyed a wide range of emotions. Many in Chestnut heard their eerie cries at night—some saying they spoke the tongue of the dead and communicated with spirits wandering the woods.

  But at that moment, the whistle was sad and weak, squealing with a high hum as the little creature gasped for breath.

  Yig did not look up at Mona. He stayed still, fixated on the Mikkin in his lap, gently stroking it in an effort to stop its crying. And within a couple of minutes… it did. Yig remained motionless, holding the body as the creature finally closed its eyes, the painful breathing gone. He placed it on a bed of leaves, gave it one last stroke, then stood and took a few steps back.

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  “What happened?” Mona asked.

  Yig shrugged. “I found it here, moaning in pain. I thought… maybe I could help.”

  Mona sighed. Sometimes, it seemed Yig was too kind for his own good. He had a care for life no one else did. Not to say everyone else in the village was heartless, but Yig’s connection ran deeper than simple empathy—even if others didn’t always realize it at first.

  “An egg fell from the sky again,” she said. “Though you’ve probably missed it by now.”

  Yig perked up. “Who caught it?”

  “How would I know? I came to find you!”

  “I bet it was Jordan,” Yig said with grit. “Let’s go find out.”

  After some searching, they climbed a short hill holding a crowd, located right next to a cluster of rocks, each around six to ten feet tall. It made for quite the playground every now and then.

  Jordan was among them, standing side by side with the adults as they looked down at the victor of the day’s competition. Boy, what had they been feeding that guy? It was hard to believe Jordan was only seventeen. Despite that, he seemed to have arrived too late to the egg on this occasion.

  Once Mona and Yig pushed through, she got a look at who had caught the egg. It was Quinlou, a boy around Jordan’s age—a little older, if she remembered correctly. He had long silver hair that passed his shoulders: unkempt, rough, and knotted. It even had remnants of twigs tied in there, probably a byproduct of rushing to get here. Two blades hung from his waist; real blades, made from real steel, not those silly wooden things her parents insisted she use. Maybe if Darleth was around, he would have let her use such equipment.

  Quinlou was a great envy of hers. Not just because of his weaponry, but because of the book he read—the ways of the two-sword style, the same style she practiced. Once her parents allowed her, she would surely become a greater master of that style than him.

  Some in the crowd clapped—a show of sportsmanship. Yig didn’t. He could be stubborn like that sometimes. Jordan clapped, and he was the one who had a rivalry with Quinlou. They shared a glance of antagonism.

  “I don’t need your applause, Jordan,” Quinlou shouted. “I am more than capable of my own validation.”

  Jordan’s clapping ceased. “Don’t let our competition engulf you so completely. There is more to life than that.”

  Quinlou kicked the dirt, the egg hauled under his arm. “Perhaps to you. But that does not change that today’s victory was mine.”

  As the crowd dispersed, Yig shook his head.

  “What is it?” Mona asked.

  “That guy…” Yig replied. “He thinks about quests wrong.”

  Mona considered that, as she did most of Yig’s strange ramblings.